


Thought, Memory, Conscience

by Otterskin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: A couple of birds have a bad day, Gen, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Odin has always been a fave, Or we could have had more, Shame Ravens don't Behave on set, Short, i love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 17:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otterskin/pseuds/Otterskin
Summary: A couple of birds stalk a homeless guy. They make small talk. Mostly about murder. They may not, actually, be very good at small talk. Not bad at murder, though.





	Thought, Memory, Conscience

Two sat on a telephone pole. 

"Thought." One said in a croak. "What if one of us were to kill the other?" 

"Memory." Responded his twin. "We already did that. Conscience is dead." 

The first went quiet. Then - "Thought. Was there another, besides her?" 

"Memory. There was Dream. We tried to kill her. But she escaped. I do not remember seeing her again." 

"Thought. That is probably why the King sleeps so long these days." 

The two black birds looked down their pole at a crusty old man sleeping below, tucked between a dumpster and a rundown Italian restaurant. He snored loudly, clearly the fault of the bottle he coddled. 

"Thought," said the first again. "What if when next he tells us to see the world and report back, we lie? Say we found the rainbow with the golden steps." 

"Memory, brother. It has been a long time since he has sent us out." 

"Thought. He sees all he needs of the world through a bottle." Agreed the first crow despondently. 

The old man stirred. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, then looked hopefully into empty bottle he'd been clutching like a stuffed animal. In another moment, it was tossed away, empty clanking ringing down the alleyway. 

"Memory. I used to feel better than I feel now," shivered the second crow. 

His brother didn't feel so well himself, but it was true that the drink was killing more of Memory than Thought. He reached out a wing and wrapped it around his sibling. 

"Thought. He will wake up someday, and he will need us. We are the ones who know and remember. We will put things back right, as we always do. Hold on, brother." 

The old man was wandering away. The two birds took flight, leaving a few loose feathers behind. They circled as the old man checked the bins along the alleyway, searching for breakfast. He caught sight of the twin shadows as he grubbed underneath a bin. He looked upwards, then gleeked to one side and cursed. 

"Dang crows always following me about. Can't remember a day in me life they weren't circling overhead. Still waiting for me to drop dead. Go on, you buzzards! Get! I could live for a thousand years!" 

"Thought." The first raven said. "What if he does live this way a thousand years?" 

The second kept his gaze steady and clear. "Then, brother, I will remember it all. And never tell him of it. Great Odin does not need to remember such years." 

They followed the king in silence for a time. 

"Thought. What are you remembering, brother?" Asked the first bird, 

"Memory. I cannot seem to stop recalling Conscience." 

"Thought. That does not seem like a good thing to dwell upon." 

"Bad Memories. I remember how she thrashed in our grip - how she beat her wings against us, so hard that the shafts of her feathers broke and twisted. I remember that she tasted of salt and lead." 

"Thought. Why did Odin want us to kill our sister?" 

"Memory. It was the only way he thought he could win. The war went on and on, and Conscience grew fatter, dining on corpses on both sides. He could not bear her weight. And so he told us to devour her." 

"Thought. I do not want to do that again. I miss her. And Dream. Do you think we will see them again?" 

Memory could not answer. That, ironically, was the sort of thing Dream was meant to reply to. 

A teenager on his way to a party had been stopped by the King. The old man was belligerent, refusing to move out of his way until the teen broke off a beer from his six-pack and hastily handed it over. 

The King took a hefty draft. Then clutched his head and moaned. 

Memory was suddenly filled of an image of golden halls, filled with revelling men and women. They raised their horns in a toast. 

"Thought. This cannot go on much longer -" the first bird began to say, but he was interrupted by his brother suddenly plunging from the sky. 

He plunged after Memory. They crashed into another telephone pole, then tumbled to the ground. He cawed frantically, beating his wings in his hatchmate's face. But his brother stayed dead. 

The telephone pole stood tall over the raven, an impressive gravemarker. Thought stared at it. The cross was where it had all started. Memory had told him so. All he could think now was that it was very unfair that it was that this was where Munin would be laid to rest. And with him…so much else. 

A bottle shattered an inch about Thought's head, sprinkling glass everywhere. Startled, he leapt into the air. Some old man had thrown it at him. 

"Damn vultures, get! GET!" He screamed. 

Thought flew to the top of the pole. He watched the old man wander away until he was lost to sight. Something about that disquieted him, though he was not sure why. He never wanted to see that creature again. 

He began to circle, searching for something, though he could not remember what. Eventually, he landed on the edge of a dumpster, staring at a bottle that had rolled across the street. Something had been here, something important. 

But it was gone now. 

Hugin looked around again. 

There were still some stale breadsticks, though. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know this was written in 2012? And it featured a Hobo-Odin with no memory of who he was, haunted by the wars and terrible deeds of his past? And that I had no thought of Marvel in my mind when I wrote it? You can imagine my surprise when I saw Anthony Hopkins dressed in rags on the set of Ragnarok. I immediately became suspicious that Taika Waititi, or at least a screenwriter, was a reincarnation of myself. 
> 
> But then I remembered the THOR was based on a subplot from King Lear, which features Lear becoming a homeless wanderer slowly losing his mind. Which made me think I probably had some THOR DNA in my original flash fic after all, and that Ragnarok looked to be getting back to some Lear plot points. Which it did! Calloo, callay...
> 
> So here's a piece of fiction you can see as a deleted scene from Ragnarok, written with great prescience. Or, you can see it as how I originally intended it to be - a short based purely on the myths alone.


End file.
